


Scrawled With Love

by kaseiki



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: "mae is gae", F/F, just some maelica for the soul really, thanks didi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:24:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaseiki/pseuds/kaseiki
Summary: So, for all the words that Mae cannot say—all the feelings she cannot express, and all the hope she could never give; she writes, instead, on a small paper pad.





	Scrawled With Love

Her lips had looked as though they have not seen the grace of laughter in years, as the air around her tastes of nothing but melancholy.

Despite her obvious youth, it was clear that she'd seen _more than enough_ for the average girl—behind those eyes, Mae could only guess at that much; what with her heart stirring with curiosity, and all the words she can't say. That was what it was always like, really, from the moment they'd met. Even after becoming friends, and then comrades—two fighters struggling every day to get by. She, with a _noble_ mission, struggling to keep even the smallest of smiles upon her face without hiding something else in between. Often did Celica claim to keep no secrets...

...But it was never that believable. Not without _doubt_. Throughout their journey alongside the others—through graveyards and caverns, mountains and mire—Mae had seen all that there was to know about Celica; the good, the bad, but never the _hidden_. It's what made her so _mysterious_ , ever so, despite Mae having known her for so long. Whenever she smiles, nowadays, it isn't the same as it was before within the priory (where the rosiness of her cheeks would match the lush meadows of springtime). It's weighted with something else _entirely_ , and the mage can never guess as to why. Day after day, she _pines_ to know—but felt it too soon to delve into matters that would only make the princess feel worse.

So, for all the words that Mae cannot say—all the feelings she cannot express, and all the hope she could never give; she _writes_ , instead, on a small paper pad. It's previous contents were originally filled with miscellaneous things; snippets about the aftermaths of battles, of the places she'd seen, and the people she'd met. The way the clouds journeyed overhead, and how many stars she could count whilst gazing at the night sky. Her friends were _definitely_ hot topics, taking up most of the space she told herself to reserve for important things—

But, most _recently_ —it was none but Celica who'd take up _all_ the room. Everything she'd written about the princess had originally been rather _simple---_ how cool she looked on the battlefield that day, or how profound she sounded whenever words would flow from lips hoping to one day reach the hearts of many, to name a few entries. Overtime, as the pages would fill up, these same words would inevitably evolve into something more. Something Mae found _difficult_ to put an end to, even when her fingers would begin to ache and twitch with the notion of stopping.

She never did, however. And the pen would merely  _go on._  Go on through the evening, and into the night, until the woes of sleep would catch up to her, and cease the written _ramblings_ for her.

_'She is the flowers that grow in the summertime; the wishes you make on dandelions, the love-me-nots you pull from petals of the castles flower gardens, the stems woven into braids and pressed between over-inked pages of cracked-spine books.'_

_She is the rain out the windows of the library, the soft sound of the downpour muffled between laughter and the lightning raging within the skies.'_

No one ever knew about it (even a fellow writer like Genny), and if anyone ever asked as to the reasons why Mae appeared sluggish, in any way...she would blame it on something irrelevant, and leave it at that.

She was the smile on Mae's face every morning. She is the empty spaces on the page slowly being filled with declarations of love. A dream worth dreaming a thousand times, in hopes that the face that would reveal itself beneath the lids of her eyes would grace her with its tender glow. But Celica is not a dream. Nor a figment of her imagination.

Celica was real, and she was _there—_ there for her, there for her friends; there for everyone within Valentia. She carried burdens beyond what one could ever know, and it was for that reason that Mae wished to be able to hold some of it for her, too. For years, the magus found herself lost in the bone-chilling thrill of her determination, and skill; her desire for peace, through persistence and hard work. There was a _word_ for it, of course, but it was often very embarrassing to admit....

  _Love_ was a word Mae always knew, naturally, though the feeling has been an ache in her chest her entire life. A cage that battered around in search for a _key_ —some answer to the question she'd been asking herself for so long. 

But now, it had a name. A face, a voice, and a single _person_ to bear it all. She's fallen so deep in the abyss of her existence, so radiant and _strong_...

...That it's rather _hard_ to get out.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
